


Levamen

by drunkonsmut



Series: The Doctor and the Professor [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chilton lovin', F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonsmut/pseuds/drunkonsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident at the hospital hurts Chilton both physically and emotionally, fortunately you arrive to provide comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Levamen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> EmpireLock suggested Chilton hurts his tummy and this is what came along, I couldn't get it out of my head. I explored some of his trauma feels, poor bby. 
> 
> I hope you like this and that it's not too far off from what you wanted (and that I wasn't too rough on him). 
> 
> Warning: mild violence and panic attack.

The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had just gotten a new temporary inmate.

Finally caught in Wisconsin after managing to escape right after his trial, Roger Wilson was being taken to an institution in New Jersey. His assigned psychiatrist, Dr. Elmer Young, had contacted Dr. Chilton to request temporary supervision for Wilson as he arranged things at his own hospital. Dr. Young also requested that Dr. Chilton made a couple of sessions with Wilson to provide his insights. Frederick agreed, the mind of a man who killed his two brothers with his bare hands and after escaping killed thirteen other people was bound to be interesting.   

Roger Wilson was a bulldozer of a man with an incredibly tactical mind, which enabled him to successfully avoid the FBI and the police for almost seven months. Their first session was illuminating in what not was said. While he remained stubbornly silent about this bothers or family, Wilson spoke of the enjoyment of killing and his dislike for men like Young and Chilton most casually. Dr. Chilton stayed to see him out of the diving cage and cuffed before turning his back to walk toward the stairs.

Wilson’s hands were tied in front of him, but he managed to hit and stun the two orderlies in charge of him with his head and shoulders to get to Chilton.

A commotion erupted behind Frederick and as he turned to look back he was roughly grabbed by the arm and thrown against the wall. His head smacked against the stone. He was pinned against the surface by Wilson’s mighty weight, he felt the prisoner’s hands ram into his middle, knocking the air out of him. Panic flood him as Wilson opened his hands and clutched viciously at his stomach, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh through the fabric of his shirt.

“Maybe I should finish what that Gideon started.” Wilson whispered coldly.

Frederick had enough presence of mind and adrenaline-fueled strength to push Wilson’s frame away as the guards finally arrived to take care of the situation.  

As he was subdued and taken to his cell, Frederick allowed himself to be escorted to the nurses wing. He concentrated on his breathing as he was attended by one of the nurses and willed himself to stop trembling. He let her check for a concussion and his blood pressure, but waved off any attempts for further examinations.

He dismissed several _Are you alright, Dr. Chilton?_ with bitter _I’m fine-_ s and tried to concentrate on something beyond the pain. Once he started to feel the familiar chest tightness of anxiety,  he made his way to his office as composed and as fast as possible whist leaning heavily on his cane as his abdominal muscles twitched uncomfortably. He didn’t want any of the staff to see him like this.

Once inside his office, Frederick scrambled to his chair as he felt his leg muscles trembled and his heartbeat grew erratic. He knew he was having a panic attack, he clutched his cane like a life-line trying to collect himself and chase away the images of Abel Gideon’s steady hand cutting him open and of his own holding his internal organs like a gift basket. He felt the dull aches and touches of that night as Gideon scavenged around his torso like it was happening at that moment, he felt like he was going to die.

Hunched over in his chair he concentrated on breathing slowly, his eyes shut tightly and his head low.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that but by the time he heard a knock on his door like a distant cathedral bell, he felt calmer and so exhausted.

As the door opened, he straightened his back by sheer will power and flinched as he felt a sharp pain on his scar as the muscles stretched. His fingers hurt as he unraveled them from their hold on the cane.

“I’ve brought you some tea, doctor.”

Old Dorothy shuffled in quietly carrying a steaming cup, which she placed on his desk. He didn’t look at her, he only raised his eyes to the silver cat pin on her blouse.

“I’ve cleared your schedule for the rest of the afternoon. I think you should go home earlier, Dr. Chilton.”

He nodded faintly, still not raising his eyes.

“Thank you, Dorothy.” He managed to reply softly.

\--

He gets home and takes the stairs to his bedroom, the house as silent as ever. Once there, he throws his cane on the bed and heads to the bathroom. After swallowing an ibuprofen, he undresses quickly never looking in the mirror and jumps in the shower. The hot water soothes his tense muscles, the pain on the middle of his abdomen. He lets the shower spray hit the crown of his head, the water treading and matting his hair. He reaches to rub the small bump on the back, it doesn’t hurt much. It’ll probably be gone in a couple of days.

Soaping up and rinsing quickly without directly touching his scar, he dries himself and wraps a towel over his hips as he steps out. Standing in front of the big sink mirror, his eyes fall on his stomach.

The thin, raised scar contrasts heavily with the rest of his skin. It’s dark red color standing out shockingly in the bright light of the bathroom. He doesn’t like it, it doesn’t feel like part of him. He avoids looking at the scar usually, promptly putting on a shirt and continuing his routine. Aside from vanity, he doesn’t like looking at it because it makes him feel like his body is no longer his own and it's become a permanent reminder of his failures

He’s been trying to continue on like Gideon never happened, not addressing his memories of the night and the emotional turmoil afterwards. He’s dealt with the professional consequences of his actions on Gideon’s mind as best he could, he still holds his position as chief of staff at BSHFCI if that's something. That’s where all his energies went once he recovered; and to maintaining his aloof persona of course. Afterward he would be too tired for anything else.

He traces the scar on the area above his bellybutton where a painful, dark bruise has appeared. He places a protective hand over it. Just when he was back on his feet, dwelling securely into his job and enjoying the attentions of a lovely woman, this incident with Wilson left feeling like when he left recovery, weak and unsteady. He hates feeling like this.

A sudden wave of feeling has him bracing his hands on the sink counter and biting his lip, swallowing against the hard knot that formed in his throat. The contrasting images of the surgical retractors holding him apart and soft feminine fingers caressing the scar causes his sight to blur with tears. Turning sharply away from the mirror, he goes in search of sleeping clothes. He’s going to take a nap and maybe sleep for fifty years.

\--

You thought it awfully irresponsible of the guard of the gated community Frederick lived in to just let you pass the gate, since he’d become so used to seeing you. But you weren’t going to complain now because it served your purpose of surprising Frederick with some yummy take out. He hadn’t respond to your texts earlier today, so you figured he was having a busy day.

The house has no lights on, thought the guard told you he was home. You ring the bell and wait. The light of the foyer comes on and soon enough you see a shadow on the door. You smile as it opens and there’s Frederick …looking a little worse for wear, hair disheveled and an arm placed across his stomach.

“Hello, gorgeous. I brought you dinner.”  You walk in and give him a quick kiss, before continuing to the kitchen to put the take-out bag on the counter.  “Were you sleeping?”

“Uh…yes, I was resting on the sofa.” You hear him say as he follows you, his voice groggy. That made you frown, Frederick never rested like that unless he was sick. He comes to stand next to you at the counter, a hand reaching to pull the bag to him. “Thank you for the food, by the way.”

You regard him for a moment, his parlor is a bit pale and his brow seems damp with sweat.

“Are you alright, Frederick?” You ask him placing a hand on the center of his back and finding his black cotton shirt dampened. “Did you have a nightmare?” you ask softly, frowning in worry. 

That may have been the wrong thing to ask for he tenses and moves away. “I’m fine” he replies coldly, not looking at you, as he walks to the other side of the kitchen to open one of the upper cabinet.

Your frown deepens when you notice him flinching as he raises an arm to retrieve two glass cups.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” You stand behind him and start slipping your arms around his waist to hug him. You press your front to his back, he’s still tense so you place a kiss in the middle of his shoulder blades. When your hands and arms squeeze his middle playfully, he winces and his hands fall to your wrists to pull them off his belly.

 “Stop, please.”

His soft request makes you alert; you let him move your hands away.

He turns around to face you but doesn’t look at you. You regard his solemn face.

“Did something happen today, darling?” you ask cautiously.

His face hardens and he bites his lip. You reach to wrap your arms around his neck and press your cheek against his. You sneak a hand in his hair and stop as you feel a bump. “Frederick?” you start pulling away but suddenly his arms are around you, holding you tightly against his body.

He buries his face in your neck and you feel more that hear him take a shuddering breath. You tighten yours arms a bit more for leverage and stroke his hair, waiting, as he clings to you.

He doesn’t let up his hold, but he moves to rest his chin on your shoulder. “An inmate attacked me, but I’m alright.” He added quickly when you tense.

“I’m alright.” He repeated more to himself than to you. “It just…it reminded me of what happened with Gideon.”

You turn your head to place a kiss on his neck bellow his ear. “You’re safe now. I’m here for anything you need.”

You stay holding each other like that for a long time, Frederick gradually softening his grip on you.

“Can you stay tonight?” he asks softly, rubbing your sides.

You nod as you pull away enough to see his face. “Yes, I can.”

You cradle his adorable face in your hands and rub his cheeks with your thumbs. Not standing seeing him sad, you reach to give him a peck on the lips before starting to shower him with kisses. Peppering his lips, chin and jaw with smooches, you murmur before starting on his neck: “Smile for me, Frederick”.

You must have tickled his neck for he jumped and laughed breathily.  Pulling away you see him smiling faintly. “Want to watch those episodes of Jeopardy I know you have taped and play along?” you ask him smiling back.

He opens his mouth and looks like he is just about to deny that accusation, but sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

“Don’t act like I’m forcing you, you know you want to. Come on.” You pull him by the hand and grab the take-out bag as you head toward the living room.

“I just don’t want to humiliate you by pulverizing your ego in every category.”

You release an exaggerated gasp as you look back, and try to hold back a smile when you see him smirking. “Such insolent attitude. We’ll see about that, you’re not winning my spring rolls this time!”

\--

He likes the look of you in one of his shirts. He runs his hand through your hair as you kiss in bed. You’re facing each other sharing long, languid kisses under the sheets. Enjoying your sighs and content noises, he himself feels relaxed and happy like the day never happened.

Frederick feels the hand you had on his chest move slowly over his stomach and start to crawl up under his shirt. He tenses and gasps quietly into the kiss at your touch. The gentleness and softness of your fingers a pleasant contrast with all he’s felt. He pulls back and settles to look at your face, he caresses your cheek and jaw as you trace his scar.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask, your thumb circling the bruise without applying pressure to it.

“It’s not bothering me anymore.”

Your easy acceptance and comforting presence ground him in the present tonight. He feels his own person again. Your loving attention to him and his body warm him and make him feel like he's worth the bother.

“Thank you.” He whispers before gathering you closer and kissing you passionately, trying to express his gratitude as best he could. He settles on his back and brings you with him. You pull away, breathless.

“With kisses like that, you don’t have to thank me for a thing.”

“That’s not wha-“

“I know.” You whisper as you look back at him. “You’re welcome. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I kept him as believable as possible. 
> 
> As always feedback and comments are appreciated, they fuel my ideas!  
> Thank you for reading
> 
> P.S. If you would like to read an specific situation or have me include something in a future installment, you can write your suggestions in the comments!


End file.
